I talk to you so often in my mind (or spirit) that I sometimes don't know what to write about here. Sometimes, maybe I wouldn't write at all, except that not doing so would be such a betrayal to all our years together and all our time.
You would be leased that I am taking somewhat better care of myself. But it's the Health Care Act that has made it possible, and you were never a proponent of that policy. Without it, though, I would be withering worse than I did while I still had you to care for and about.
I miss having someone to fuss over, fuss with, and fuss about.
And I miss you, too. Just -- YOU.
Warren has your grin.
He has something of you in the way he uses his hands. Tammy noticed it first and neither of us can really explain it any better than that. It's not the shape of the hands, or the gestures, but there's just something about the way he uses his hands that is very strongly you.
I sometimes feel you were so cheated to not get to know this little boy child. You had all girls, and except for the few months with Tommy, in 2000, the year our life went to hell, you never got to be a daddy to a little boy. We, your girls, were looking forward to you having that chance.
But it will never happen now.
A lot of things will never happen now.
Other things that wouldn't have happened before will happen now. Not that I can think of any that I want or wanted. I want to have a few dozen more years of holding you, hugging you, sitting on your legs. I want decades of arguing Fox News (entertainment TV) and shooting down moving to Alaska and agreeing on time-wasting jobs, and does beef taste better from the slow cooker or boiled in the oven.
I just want you.
You would be leased that I am taking somewhat better care of myself. But it's the Health Care Act that has made it possible, and you were never a proponent of that policy. Without it, though, I would be withering worse than I did while I still had you to care for and about.
I miss having someone to fuss over, fuss with, and fuss about.
And I miss you, too. Just -- YOU.
Warren has your grin.
He has something of you in the way he uses his hands. Tammy noticed it first and neither of us can really explain it any better than that. It's not the shape of the hands, or the gestures, but there's just something about the way he uses his hands that is very strongly you.
I sometimes feel you were so cheated to not get to know this little boy child. You had all girls, and except for the few months with Tommy, in 2000, the year our life went to hell, you never got to be a daddy to a little boy. We, your girls, were looking forward to you having that chance.
But it will never happen now.
A lot of things will never happen now.
Other things that wouldn't have happened before will happen now. Not that I can think of any that I want or wanted. I want to have a few dozen more years of holding you, hugging you, sitting on your legs. I want decades of arguing Fox News (entertainment TV) and shooting down moving to Alaska and agreeing on time-wasting jobs, and does beef taste better from the slow cooker or boiled in the oven.
I just want you.
No comments:
Post a Comment